Author Note: I've been reading a number of these R34 Economy, and the premise seems like the kind of thing that, while absolutely an opportunity for a sociopathic power wank (sometimes literally), seems to me to make for a much better example of how to take a completely immoral premise and twist it for good. Subvert it for virtuous means? Pervert it for Justice? Either way, I had two ideas of where to go with this, so, rather than stick to one, I'm doing both. The Sister Story, My Harem Academia can be found HERE. If you've read that one, skip down to the decision point in the first chapter, as they are literally identical up until then. ALSO, The version of the catalog being used has been frozen (because otherwise planning more than a few chapters away is nigh-impossible) from when the MC was 'inserted', and can be found in the first Index'd post
Draconian Remnant
In the beginning, there was darkness, and then, light.
Probably because someone flicked the switch.
For me though, there was light, and there was pain. Not some mind rending agony, not a soul deep ache, nothing that over the top, merely a sharp spike that quickly dulled. Blinking, having previously been on my bed, scrolling through CYOA's to pass the time, I found myself in a blank space, holding, of all things, a piece of parchment, my name signed in dull red at the bottom.
Freezing, not as much like a deer in the headlights as much as an animal awakening in a strange place, because I was, I stared at the document in my hands that had replaced my phone. It was certainly full of words, written in a flowing, yet somehow harsh script. It was just too bad I didn't understand a word of it. A bit of wetness, neither cold nor warm, ran down my right hand, which throbbed with a dull pain.
What. The. Hell.
Holding what looked to literally be a satanic contract, which I'd apparently signed with my blood, I looked around, spotting something dark on the horizon. Luckily, it didn't seem to be moving, a squat shape, and was the only thing in sight. The lack of any reference was odd, meaning it could be anything from a box of cigarettes, to an entire warehouse, and I had no idea.
Slowly getting to my feet, the change in elevation let me narrow it down to 'bigger a breadbox, smaller than a truck'. Hoping that my lack of shoes weren't going to be an issue, I slowly made my way towards it. The ground in this not-place was just as indistinct as the rest, neither warm nor cold, hard nor soft, it merely was.
That very lack of any sensation, in some ways, seemed to help settle my mind, which had been stuck in loops of 'What is going on!?'.
Despite holding something seemingly demonic in my hand, my surroundings seemed more akin to Purgatory than anything else. Furthermore, as I slowly approached the dark shape, it was a simple steel desk, a chair pulled up to it, and, oddly enough, a tablet computer resting innocuously on the top of it, the only thing on top of the desk.
With no small amount of trepidation, I approached it. "Hello?" I called, my voice muted, without any of the reverberations that came from speaking indoors, but no echoes from far away, even when I called again, louder. "Is anyone there?"
Looking around, looking down, looking up, there was nothing but blank whiteness as far as the eye could see. Clenching my hands in worry, my left closed around the cloth-like paper, and my right felt slick. Looking to it, my palm was bloody, though, feeling my fingertip with my thumb, lightly, I'd stopped bleeding.
On a whim I knelt down, wiping my palm against the 'ground', wondering if it would absorb the blood, or just refuse to be stained, or something.
Instead all I accomplished was leaving a bright red streak across the otherwise pristine nothingness.
Standing up, I looked at the mess I'd left, feeling oddly guilty, as if I'd dirtied something pristine.
However, nothing else happened, and I was forced to look back at the desk, the chair, and the tablet.
Approaching it, worried that. . . well, I didn't know what I was worried about, I was just worried, I put the parchment in my pants pocket and carefully touched the chair, which, while hard steel, was the same not-warm, not-cold as everything else. Sliding it back, I took a seat, ignoring the tablet to pull open the drawers, only to find them empty.
Looking at the tablet, it was on, a white background marred only by a single black square that read, in English 'Please Insert Authentication!'.
I tapped it, then pressed my finger down on it, hoping it was some sort of bio-metric lock, only for nothing to happen. On a whim, I wiped a little bit of the blood that was still on my right had, only to dirty the screen.
Wiping it off with my shirt, I pulled out and considered the seemingly infernal contract. Lacking any other options, I touched the tip of the parchment, only for it to catch fire with brilliant emerald flames. Dropping it like it was on fire, because it was, I tried to scoot backwards in the chair, but the legs caught on something, and the chair tipped backwards, sending me sprawling.
Scrambling to my feet, I could see the smoke from the flames rising up, before hitting an invisible ceiling and starting to billow out in every direction. However, before it spread, it started to spin, the last of the paper burning away so cleanly there was not even ash left.
The smoke, a thick, evil looking, dark cloud continued to spin, tightening into a funnel like a miniature tornado that touched down on the tablet, pouring itself into the computer, before, with something akin to a sucking sound, it disappeared, leaving only silence in the void, along with the table, chair, tablet, and out-of-place blood smear.
Carefully approaching, sitting back down in my chair, the tablet screen had changed. Now there was a cartoon happy face, below which read 'Authentication recognized!' with a button that said 'Great!' on it.
Hesitantly, I clicked it, reading the new screen.
'Welcome User: Leecifer! We at The Company are proud to have you as our newest employee! In these trying times, the demand for Waifus and Husbandos has reached an all time high! As such you have been selected to help us search the multiverse for quality stock from which quantum duplicates can be provided to our customer base for a nominal fee!'
. . . what.
There were two buttons. One labelled in green 'I Understand!', and one in red labelled 'I Have Some Questions!'
I clicked the second.
A new box appeared, at the top of which was an unhappy face that was oddly ominous.
'Oh no!' it read. 'Did your recruitment officer not explain in sufficient detail? This has been noted but, as you are already a contractually obligated employee, we can only provide base information. The three most frequently asked questions are answered below!'
Unsure whether or not I'd just made a serious mistake, I scrolled down.
'1: If you can make quantum copies, why do you need new stock? Can't you just keep copying them?
Quantum copies can only be made a limited amount of times, between 8 and 999,999,999,998, before the multiversal limit is reached and a new dimensional analog is required to continue production!
2: I don't remember signing any contract! How can I be held to contract I didn't sign?
Memory of signing the contract, nor one's state of mind, be it intoxicated, controlled, or emotional, has any bearing on the validity of said contract. While regrettable, premature termination of the contract will result in the premature termination of the signee.
3: What!? How is that fair? Isn't that slavery!?
Yes! Yes it is! For all parties! Fairness is a social construct and employee's cultural practices are contractually allowed only in such ways as they do not interfere with the completion of their contract!
Those are the three most common queries. We hope this clears up any remaining uncertainties.
Welcome to The Company! "We Do What We Must Because We Can!"'
And below that was a single green button, labelled 'I Understand!'
Well. . . shit.
Getting up from the desk, wanting nothing to do with what I was pretty sure this was, I squared my shoulders and walked away.
And walked.
And walked.
Until I finally saw a dark shape on the horizon. A squat shape.
It was the desk. With the tablet. Still asking me to accept this.
I didn't, tipping over the chair, picking a different direction, and walked away.
And walked.
And walked.
Until I finally saw two dark shapes on the horizon. A squat shape, and a smaller shape next to it.
It was the desk. With the tablet. The chair turned over exactly where I left it.
Fuck.
The blood on the ground had dried, and I was feeling a little thirsty. Putting the chair back, I picked a different direction.
And walked.
And walked.
Until I saw that stupid fucking desk.
As I approached it, however, there was something else on the desk.
A plastic bottle, which the white label on it declared to be filled with 'WATER'.
"Oh Go Fuck Yourself!" I yelled, useless, at the sky.
There was no response.
Sighing, I sat, grabbing the bottle. Opening it and taking a sip it was, indeed, water. Not cold. Not warm. Not containing any flavor whatsoever. Just. Water.
"Fucking Non-Euclidean Bullshit," I muttered to myself.
Well, I was either already fucked, either having signed, or having been forced to sign, a contract already, or I was just going to stay here, forever. Or maybe until I starved, assuming food didn't show up. Either way, I didn't have a choice.
Clicking the green 'I Accept!' button, a new screen opened itself.
'Welcome to the Waifu Catalog! Please select your starting dimension, and spend your allotment as you see fit! All choices can be reversed until finalized at the end of your initiation!'
Scrolling past that, I started to click through menus, my stomach sinking as I got a better idea of what this was. Of what the limits were. Of what the mechanics were. Of what I was expected of me.
I was a slaver.
Oh, it was dressed up with cutesy language, talking about 'ensuring loyalty' and 'For safety reasons', but it was slavery. The fact that the control methods could not be resisted made that clear, and managed to hit one of my largest triggers.
I hate Mind Control.
A person was their mind. To remove that, to change who they were?
It would be kinder just to kill someone.
And whoever forced me into this?
They knew it.
The option I wanted, the 'No Bindings' choice?
It was greyed out.
The free option, the slave/tramp stamp that slowly made the affected slowly like me more in every way, was already selected, and while I could choose more expensive options, I couldn't un-select the stamp.
"Fuck you," I declared, not knowing if whatever stuck me here could hear me, but needing to state it all the same.
Maybe it was Naïve, but, if, when, I found someone I wanted them to be interested in me, not be forced into it. Any 'waifu' I bought to try to help me, even if they were just copies or clones, would come pre-stamped, and most importantly, they could not be removed.
Even the more expensive option that could be removed, the choker that reshaped their bodies and enforced complete submission, didn't matter because they all came pre-stamped so I couldn't just free them as soon as they arrived.
Looking over the point costs, the abilities for myself that I could buy, I started to form an idea of what I wanted. Looking over the dimensions, I instantly tried to go to the specialty option, the Tier 11, which I could use to get my own dreadnought starship, something that would ensure that, wherever I went, I could both survive and help others.
Doing so opened a window that read 'Your signing bonus does not include Top-Tier options!'
"Of course it doesn't," I grumbled, closing it out.
That sent me back to the drawing board, blinking as I noticed a white bar on the desk, labelled 'Food'.
Shrugging, I opened it, revealing an unappealing grey bar. With an experimental bite, it tasted like. . . nothing. It had texture, the firm sameness of most food bars, but while I could feel it in my mouth, swallowing it and knowing it moved down my throat, it tasted like nothing at all.
Looking up, where the smoke had pooled as if against an invisible ceiling, I grabbed the empty water bottle and threw it upwards. It flew high, a perfect parabolic arc that went right through the space where the smoke had stopped, coming to bounce with a slight crinkling sound a couple dozen feet away.
Sure. Whatever, I thought, not needing, nor having the tools, to figure out what was going on with this place.
Refocusing on the tablet, I narrowed it down to two options: High Power/Danger, and Low Power/Danger. On the low end, I could get some basic skills and enough power to fit into a safer universe without question, able to offer help to others, and to deal with those that would hurt others.
While I hated mind control, I believe it would be more concise to say I hated it when used on good people, which, to be fair, is ninety nine percent of how it's ever uses. If you put, for instance, if you put Bellatrix Lestrange, the mass-murdering psychopath from the Harry Potter series in front of me, I'd have no problem killing her, or putting her under the same mind-control spell she used to torture others. Death was kinder, but there were quite a few people who, with their reckless disregard for innocents, with their enjoyment in the pain of those that had done nothing to them, didn't deserve that kindness.
On the other hand, the defensive suite of perks could be shared with everyone I 'captured', and if, after I laid the cards on the table, they still accepted? That was entirely different. There would still be an aspect of 'do they want me for me or me for what I can give them', but if I only brought that up after we were already friends. In a perfect world they'd choose me for me, but in a perfect world I wasn't a fucking slave forced to be a slaver.
So, yeah.
On the higher end? On the higher end I'd honestly still help people, still make the offer, I'd just be doing so with a great deal more benefits in a lower end death world.
If I allowed myself to get everything I wanted? Everything I felt I'd need to make this work? I'd need a Tier Seven world, at least. That put me in the realm of the New World of Darkness, where ancient vampires danced in their Masquerade, RWBY, where the gods had abandoned the world and creatures of solidified hate hunted those that were left, and Kingdom Hearts, which was so full of absolute fucking bullshit that, even with a freaking Star Dreadnought, I might not even be safe from having some idiot from killing me by 'removing the desires of my heart' or some other tripe.
If I bumped myself up to Tier Eight, while it would nearly double my budget, it would also mean I'd get dropped into comic book worlds, where gods roamed and World Eaters got scared off, Shield Hero, which I knew just enough about to know that I didn't want to go there, and Worm, which was a hard no. You literallycouldn't pay me enough to stick my nose in that complete can of worms, pun intended, powered by bullshit squared, where everyone may be dancing to the tune of several different Pre-cogs, and with monsters that could, in all likelihood, kick Godzilla's ass.
It was either end of the sliding scale without pegging either side, where I could start at the 'bottom', and would need to take down or recruit seven people of note, knowing that their copies would be sold off, just to leave and head to another dimension, and do it all again, but stronger. It would be a situation where I would start weak, but knew that, with time, and if I didn't really mess up, I could get stronger while the threat of death was a distant possibility. Doing so would allow me time to get a good grounding in my capabilities and allow myself to grow, but I'd need close to fifty captures before I could even approach where I'd start if I went the other way.
And if I did go the other way? I'd be dropping myself in the deep end. Not the instant death-fest I could find myself in if I chose something like fucking Worm, but close. I'd read the details given in the system that would determine my path forward, and I could work with it, using a couple of loopholes to get access to lower-tiered areas, if they worked, but it'd be much harder, much more dangerous path, the points I'd get to spend absolutely needed.
So. . . which way should I go?
.
I was reminded of a saying I'd heard, a joke really, but it didn't seem like that much of a joke now:
Always be yourself. Unless you can be a dragon, then always be a dragon.
Decision made, selecting the Tier Seven starting dimension of RWBY, I started to spend my allotment, knowing I'd need it.
With seven hundred points to spend, four hundred were immediately spent not only making myself a dragon, but with the ability to empower others, eventually to become dragons themselves, because, again, always be a dragon.
Then I moved to the Talent perks, picking up every one I could, each one making it easier for me to learn and fight, finding another cute little 'surprise'. the 'Wild Talent' perk, the one that would make non-sentient animals back off and sentient animals more likely to listen? The one that'd help deal with both the Grimm, animalistic monsters that were malice made flesh, and Faunus, the animal-person hybrids that made up half the population of the setting I'd picked? Greyed out, unable to be purchased.
Similarly, Social Talent, the thing that'd keep me from sticking my foot in my mouth? Also disabled.
However, even with those limitations, it was still a massive haul. Not only was I going to be a dragon, but I'd be psychic, have a natural well of ki (life energy), and have all the minor imperfections removed, along with the small, nearly insignificant upgrade of biological immortality.
I could still be killed, but I would never age past my prime, never have to deal with any of the minor issues of life like needing to work out to keep my physique or deal with the common cold, and, best of all, neither would anyone I 'captured'.
Then came the Defense perks and, with Wild Talent removed, Wild Defense, the upgraded version that'd let me make the plane-sized Grimm back off, was also off the table. However the others were snapped up, making me and mine immune to disease, poison, mind affecting powers, soul affecting powers, destiny affecting powers, and able to ignore scrying at will.
Picking up Superior Bedroom and Cooking skills was a no-brainer as, while they could be turned up to absolutely ridiculous, near mind-controlling levels, they didn't have to be. And, with my. . . *ahem*, lack of experience, they were well worth the paltry price they cost. And with cooking, if I was such a dumbass that I couldn't monetize being a fucking dragon, I could always make ends meet as a chef.
One hundred and fifty five points left, a hundred went to a pocket dimension. The house was nice, as well as the workshops and literally always having a safe house available, but it was the portal machine I wanted. That was what would let me, after hitting certain goals, open up new avenues of exploration, and new dimensions to visit, and, hopefully, to help.
Fifty five left, and I arranged for my arrival. Dropping in, with seemingly no identity, might work in chaotic settings full of people, where the identities of those with power was often hidden. Comic book worlds, ones with in-place masquerades, and the like were places I could slip in, and just pretend to be a player all along, just one who had only recently stepped onto the stage.
In Remnant, the world of RWBY, however, that was not the case. Humanity was on the edge even though they hid it well, and the community of powered individuals was, as far as I could remember, much smaller. Furthermore, despite the magical elements of the Grimm, and Aura, where one's Soul was empowered to help fight evil, it was a very scientifically advanced setting. Everyone had some sort of record, at least they did where I'd need to go to get in the action, and that meant I'd need to take someone's place.
With fifty-five points, and the Tier of most characters in the setting being five, requiring twenty points each to 'purchase', I had more than enough. Selecting the option to take over my selected character, I just had to stare at the cost in sheer disbelief.
One. Point.
Jaune Arc, the character I empathized with for the first two volumes of RWBY (the only ones of the show I actually watched), was worth a single point.
That. . . actually made a good deal of sense.
Jaune Arc was, to put it nicely, a complete loser. I knew that he had enormous potential, in the way that others talking about something you haven't seen can give a very scattershot picture of what happened. I'd kept expecting him to move past 'butt monkey' status as I watched, to see him come into his own and appreciate his journey from cocky loser to mature, emotionally secure badass. Only, he never really did. At the end of over twenty episodes, I was starting to lose hope that he would. Then I looked ahead, and saw that, no, he never really got that much better. At least not in comparison to the rest of the staff.
Just like the treatment of Xander on Buffy, that killed off my interest in the show. Kind of regretting that now. I knew the secret history of the world, but not who half the characters on the list were. It was going to make things. . . interesting.
However, starting off the man, boy really, had no skills, only the most basic equipment, and he didn't even have Aura, the one base power that literally every other named character had. Hell, the random mooks had Aura, but Jaune didn't. Him going from zero to hero seemed to be the entirety of his plot, so obvious it was almost insulting, but he only ever went from zero to sidekick, and I was jumping in at the zero part. Substituting in like this, I was supposed to get all of the powers of the person I was swapping in for, which, at this time, were the twin abilities of jack and squat.
At least I had points left over.
On a whim, I picked up Psychic Paper. The Doctor Who-ish material would be whatever form of identification I needed it to be, and considering Jaune got into Beacon Academy with a forged transcript, I might need those.
With twenty-nine points left, I could afford a tier five waifu, or two tier fours. However. . . I hesitated. This was slavery, and mind controlled slavery as well. Yes, there were a lot of women who'd very likely sell their left tit for physical perfection and eternal youth, let alone everything else I could offer with this build, but I couldn't ask them.
They'd come pre-stamped, already mentally adjusted to like me and take me up on my offer. They could say no, and, I supposed I could kill them rather than enslave them, but. . . it just wasn't something that I wanted. Maybe later, maybe when I could see how the Stamping actual effected someone rather than the nebulous terms in the catalog, and never on someone that didn't deserve it, but right now? . . . no.
I supposed I could just save it up, but the one last thing I wanted, the thing which had tempted me into upgraded to Tier Eight, and which was well out of my price range, was another non-option: Warranty.
Despite the impersonal name, it'd allow anyone of mine that died to come back to life a week later, retaining their mind and re-sleeved into a new body, cortical stack style. It'd make it so I wouldn't have to worry about losing anyone which, likely, is why it was greyed out. Because that would make things too easy.
Dick.
Double checking everything, I grit my teeth, and hit 'Finalize!'
And then the 'Yes I'm Sure!' prompt.
And then the 'Yes, I'm Absolutely Sure!' prompt.
And the lights went out, like someone flicked a switch, and all was darkness once more.